


once, the ocean said to me

by Mira_Jade



Series: The Ocean's Own [2]
Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: . . . all that good stuff, . . . so many references, . . . they're saving the world again, . . . we're getting there, Action/Adventure, Angst, Banter, Bickering, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Maui's not jealous of course not, Pre-Relationship, References to Polynesian Mythology & Lore, Slow Burn, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Jade/pseuds/Mira_Jade
Summary: As luck would have it, the island the Motunui finally settled on was haunted . . . or, Maui more privately thought: was infested with pests . . . and more than one type of pest, at that. Namely: the son of a neighboring chief type of pest . . . a boy with wandering eyes and unfortunately great hair who did not bother Maui at all . . . not even a little bit. Yet, when Maui's lassoing of the sun is undone by an ancient enemy - turning the daylight burning, and the nights unbearably long - he'll have no choice but to fight to restore balance to creation once more. Fate, an interfering ocean, and one plucky kid - or two - refuse to let him do so alone.





	1. Tides

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are! My silly little one-shot has sprouted a series . . . so far, I have four stories planned, but you never know how that number will grow as time goes by and this world builds. So, for now I am merely praying that my muse will cooperate and lend me the creative energy to see this through; I'm riding an inspiration high while writing this, and will do my best to get you to the end, folks. You deserve nothing less after your amazing support for my first story . . . I mean, _wow_. You guys are amazing - the best, really - I can't thank you enough!
> 
> Yet, before we start, I have to take a moment to discuss the tricky situation writing this story has landed me in: yes, we are heading down a shippy path with this series, but besides a lot of teasing and painful denial/reflection, nothing is going to happen at this stage in the plot. There's lots of emotional growing that needs to be done, first - on both their parts, honestly - and that takes time. Moana has just turned seventeen by the start of this - we're almost a full year from the movie, now. By her people's standards she's more than old enough for a relationship, but by ours . . . not quite. So, I will repeat: _nothing will happen in this story_ , but if the idea squicks you, then I would say that this is not the story for you. I haven't tagged this as 'Underage' . . . because it's not, but if you guys feel that is something I should change, I am open to hearing your input.
> 
> What it boils down to, in the end, is that these two have an incredible connection binding them - in any form - and it is my pleasure to explore that further here. I hope that you guys enjoy coming along for the ride!
> 
> Now, let's begin!

It was a warm, clear night out on the water.  
  
The waves softly lapped at the hull of the great _waka_ , bubbling and humming in answer to the call of the swollen full moon hovering far above their heads. The ocean rocked as if it was gently tipped back and forth by a giant, invisible hand within its cradle of earth; the currents were strong that night, all but whistling in joy to play and race underneath their hulls with the increased strength of the tides. Silver light danced across the restlessly swaying sea, painting the crests of the swells with bright pearlescence and shadowing their troughs with the black, inky stain of night. The glowing orb seemed closer than most full moons; lingering as a massive drop of radiant silver-white in the night sky, outshining the stars and burning with pink as it fell closer to the horizon in search of the dawn.  
  
They still had a few hours to go before the sun rose, Maui knew. He could feel a vague awareness of the world around him reverberate in his bones; beyond that, he trusted what his eyes saw, and thus settled himself in to wait until tribe rose with the sunrise. Not for the first time, he found himself indulging in a quiet sort of baffled amusement at the mortals wasting so much of their already diminutive lifespans with sleep. It was, in his opinion, a waste of time – quite literally, in this case.  
  
But, the fact of the matter remained that the humans _needed_ so many hours of sleep each and every night, while Maui needed, well - less than that. He slept only when he absolutely had to . . . for his sleep was rarely restful and he definitely preferred to avoid the land of dreams whenever possible. He was rarely a fortunate visitor to those shores. So, he often took over for the navigator or the watchman in the small hours of the night. He was content with the silence, with keeping course with the starts and peering across the monotonous stretch of waves for sight of land in the distance. A part of him even enjoyed the peace it afforded him.  
  
_Land_. The Motunui may not have known it, but they were close – closer than anyone may have expected after so many turns of the moon spent upon the open ocean. He had discovered the island they unwittingly sought some weeks ago on one of his flights, but had since kept silent to it – half the joy of voyaging and discovering was, well, voyaging and discovering, and he would not rob Moana's people of that thrill of vindication.  
  
He would just quietly - tactfully - make sure that they were keeping the correct course in the night. Heck, it was the right of the divine to meddle in the affairs of men, wasn't it? It was all in the job description, really.  
  
And they were close . . . so very close. He could already smell the rich scent of jungle musk and sulfuric ash from the volcanic springs on the furthest side of the island. The ocean fathomage was decreasing, and he could feel as the water turned warm with the advent of the shallow depths. They had left the vast emptiness of the deep sea behind them, and he could already feel the thriving glow of life that surrounded a barrier reef in the distance. A pod of hunting dolphins called in the night, respectful and curious in their greetings, while the ocean itself . . .  
  
The old girl was all but swirling in her excitement, he cracked a slanted smile to feel. The water was giddy and dancing in its restlessness, so much so that he was surprised that -  
  
“Maui, you still haven't slept?”  
  
\- that the kid slept through it all. And yet, as if summoned by his thoughts, there she was.  
  
It was, by then, second nature for him to move over for her – as Moana was oftentimes his companion in the long hours of the night. _Wayfinders_ _have the self-discipline not_ _to sleep_ , he had teased her once, and she had taken his words seriously. And yet, there was a reason that the ancient ones moved in such vast communities – it was all for the better to share the burdens of navigation, and thus reap the joys of discovery together.  
  
Not that Moana could be very well be convinced of that now. And, after all, the ocean was the most active – alive and thriving – with the night and the presence of its mother moon. He doubted that she'd be able to sleep any more than she already had if she wanted to.  
  
“Eh, you know me,” Maui rolled his great shoulders to brush her concern aside, “I'm an all powerful demigod. And all powerful demigods, as you know, do not need to sleep.”  
  
No matter that his words were boastful, he spoke softly; sound carried on the water, and there were those traveling with them who _did_ need their sleep. They had already been shushed by one cross tribesman or another more than once during their journey, and knew better now  
  
“Uh huh,” Moana sounded unconvinced, even as she covered her mouth with her hand to smother another yawn. Her hair was twisted up in a sensible knot for the night, and various curling tendrils escaped to frame her face in messy disarray. She wore a loose shawl decorated with dyed patterns of sea turtles over her sleeping shift, and the wrap was slipping off of the shoulder furthest from him, a small part of him noticed. Her bronze skin was streaked with silver-blue in the moonlight before she absently tugged the fabric into place again. “I, however,” she continued, “seem to remember you once trying to outdrink  _okolehao_  with the men - so much so that you slept in until noon the following day. Something tells me that you wouldn't have been so affected if you allowed yourself to sleep more regularly than you do.”  
  
“Pfft,” Maui waved a hand to her concern, “you can't judge a man by one minor defeat. You have to look at the whole, princess.”  
  
Moana snorted through her nose, but it was a half-hearted sound. She was still drowsy with the night, and he would be deprived of his usual verbal sparring partner until the dawn. It was a fact he was resigned to.  
  
. . . not that he  _anticipated_ crossing his words with her, or anything. Her refusal to back down was annoying, plain and simple, even if it was -  
  
_\- refreshing, as necessary as fresh-water to a man parched of thirst whilst surrounded by_ _salt-water and_ _the sea -_  
  
  - uh . . .  _no_ , Maui pushed his own thoughts aside with an inner grimace. Just . . . _no_.  
  
Moana, meanwhile, leaned over the side of the great canoe to run her hands through the water. The ocean, in answer, glowed a silvery-blue in greeting, all but purring at her caress as if it was a giddy puppy answering the attention of a fond master. Maui fought the urge he had to roll his eyes as Moana hooked her fingers in the waves in answer to the unspoken. He could feel the ocean shudder around the hull of the _waka_ in unabashed contentment.   
  
The water was turning warmer as they crossed a drop-off in the ocean; he could feel the slight difference in temperature as tangibly as a taste upon his tongue - so much so that he wondered if Moana could yet feel the change as anything other than a vague itching underneath her skin, a sense of knowing that she could not quite put her finger on. Ah, well, he fought the urge to shrug, half the fun for him was in watching her figure it out.  
  
And that, he firmly told himself – willfully ignoring the pointed tug he could feel on his soul, ever growing more and more insistently as of late – was why he had stayed for so long. The gods, as ever, were slow to react to anything and everything in the world around them. They pondered, they mused, they debated within themselves; for a thousand years they hadn't saw fit to lift a finger and help him, and now that he was free and where _he_ wanted to be, they dared to turn their eyes towards him and _summon_ him like an errant child? No. He refused to answer them.  
  
A thousand years they had ignored him for _. . ._ _a thousand years._ Even now the memory filled him with a nauseous shudder; he was just mortal enough to feel time pass him by like ants crawling over his skin, like an itching between his bones he could not reach . . . an aching within his lungs as if he tried to breath in air through water. A thousand years with just himself and his thoughts and the dull, mocking presence of the ocean . . .  
  
But no . . . _no_. That accursed island was far behind him now . . . that part of his life was over – and his freedom from that miserable prison was not thanks to any one of the gods, but rather to _her_.  
  
His eyes flickered to the side to watch the girl again, but he turned his gaze away a moment later. Their course had to be corrected, he told himself, and so he went about correcting it. Behind him, the rest of the fleet echoed his slight alteration, and followed.  
  
Moana gave a small sigh as she sat upright once more, seemingly unaware of their change in direction. Instead, her wet fingers played with the lei she still wore around her neck. The flowers were wilting, he noticed, and would not last much longer, but still she refused to take the garland off. The sight of it filled him with a soft sense of accomplishment - of pride, even . . . for she had left _his_ on even when she took off everyone else's, no matter that the flowers were drooping and the leaves were drying and turning in on themselves.  
  
Almost two weeks had passed since her seventeenth birthday – her _seventeenth_ birthday. At first, Maui had blinked to be confronted with, once again, just how very young she was when compared to the vast years of his existence . . . she was so painfully  _mortal,_ no matter how he tried to deny it. Though she all but blazed like a star in his senses, she burned so brightly that her years would soon burn on and out, with her human soul all but devouring itself in its desperate fervency to _live._ Paradoxically, though she had existed for a mere blinking of his eyes, she was long old enough by the standards of her people to marry . . . to raise children . . . to _lead_. She was no longer a child, for all that he still called her _kid_ \- and would probably ever call her _kid_ , even when she was old and grey with her years. With those thoughts in mind, the human custom of celebrating their ages had first amused Maui – as if each year they lived was some great feat that deserved recognition. And yet, the sobering realization had hit him next . . . there _was_ something to celebrate with each passing year for mankind, for, eventually, someday all too soon . . .  
  
. . . she would run out of years to celebrate. Like the lei around her neck, she would someday wilt, and return to the dust from which she was created.  
  
Yet, that was a thought he refused to consider any more than he had to. He could not – not yet, not until he was confronted with the undeniable reality of her mortality and forced to deal with it. For the time being, he put that thought under lock and key and shoved it down – far down in his consciousness, next to the idea of _mother_ and _father_ and _love_ and _must givegivegive until I prove that my life was not a waste, that I am worth what the ocean saw fit in me to save_ , so much so that -  
  
\- eh, right. Anyway.  
  
So, he had made sure that, if Moana was going to do something as silly as celebrate the day on which she was born, she would do so properly. With _style_.  
  
Unable as they were to find land and give her a true celebration, her people had honored the occasion the best they could on the sea. While her parents set about ordering a feast into existence, Maui had spent the better part of the day beforehand flying back and forth as fast as his strong wings could take him to the nearest island to gather fresh flowers for the event. No such anniversary should be celebrated without leis to honor the occasion, and the look on Moana's face when she received the garlands her tribe made for her – all from his hard won flowers – had been worth his sore wings, and later stiff arms and shoulder. He had even gritted his teeth – and ignored his insipidly smiling tattoo – to suck up his manly pride and make her a necklace of his own. Perhaps somewhat jealously wanting his lei to be the best, he had infused the flowers with a bit of his  _mana_ so that they would last longer. But even his great power could only delay the inevitable for so long; not even he could grant life where death had indomitably staked its hold.  
  
She had leis circling her neck up to her ears, but she had still smiled such a smile when he offered her his own gift – tossing the garland over her head and leaving her to fix it rather than helping her move her hair out of the way and settling the lei into place as he truly wanted to – see: all of the strange and disturbing impulses he had had around the kid as of late, _eugh_.  
  
_Naupaka flowers,_ Moana had slowly remarked when she saw what he threaded the more traditional orchids with – he had wanted his to stand out, after all, and so, he had been the only one to use those particular flowers. They were beautiful, unique even, he had briefly thought when gathering them – and so, without further consideration, he had kept them for himself. _You used Nuapaka flowers?_  
  
_Yeah . . . so?_ A thousand year absence from the world of men meant that he was sadly far behind on their stories – and he would never admit to anyone that he was doggedly determined to catch up on everything he had missed. _Everything_.  
  
There, in the flickering orange glow of the torchlight as the sun finished setting beyond the happily bobbing ocean, she had told him the story of a star-crossed couple – a princess named Naupaka and the common fisherman named Kaui whom she loved. Naupaka's sister, a volcanic spirit named Pele, was jealous of the easy way her sister seemed to earn the love and devotion of all she came across. Pele decided that she wanted the adoration of Kaui for herself, but he refused her offer of affection, for his love for Naupaka was steady and true. When her favor was refused, Pele sent lava into the ocean in a fit of rage, killing Kaui in the boiling water. Naupaka, having seen what happened, feared for her own life and ran up into the mountains to escape the flow of lava. Pele, however, shot lava up from the mountain, and succeeded in killing her sister as well. The mother-island, however, mourned for the fate of the lovers, and bloomed two new flowers in memory of their love: in the mountains, one half shaped flower with six petals . . . and by the beach, another half shaped flower with six petals. Legend said that when a half-flower from the beach was joined with its counterpart from the mountains, the couple was reunited. In that way, they would always be together.  
  
_Well_ . . . _huh,_ was all that Maui could say in answer to that. _Y_ _ou mortals have not gotten any better with your story telling if you think_ that's _a_ _romantic_ _tale._ _Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?_  
  
Besides, he had only gathered one type, it seemed – the flower from the mountains, with its tellingly smooth petals. He watched her fiddle with the lei now, tracing the half-moon shape of the flowers with her fingertips before looking out at the sea again. She had already carefully gathered the rest of the flowers from her other leis, and had left them at the last island they had stumbled upon a day or so ago - a seemingly idyllic island that was nevertheless _not_ suitable for her tribe for reasons that only became obvious _later._ Tradition dictated that leis be returned to where they were first gathered, and she had done the best she could to do so, but now . . .  
  
He watched as Moana thoughtfully turned in the navigator's seat to face the ocean behind them. She let the lei rest on her chest, and looked up to him to ask, “Maui, may you take this off for me?”  
  
It was _tabu_ to remove a lei in the presence of its gifter, he fuzzily remembered from his last time interacting with mankind, so long ago. Okay, he could help her then.  
  
Glancing up to first make sure that their course would not suffer from his inattention, he leaned over and gently – so as not to crush the wilting flowers, of course – slipped the lei out from underneath her flyway strands of hair and over her head. He did not linger for longer than he had to, and just barely refrained from tossing the lei to her so as to avoid the sudden uncomfortably tight feeling he felt gripping his chest. He had the strangest sense that his cheeks were flaming, and was glad for the dark to hide his uncharacteristic blush. By the gods, he thought moodily, what was the matter with him?  
  
Still, curiosity had him watch as Moana carefully unhooked the strand and freed the flowers from their thread. She then slowly let the blossoms fall to the water, one at a time to join the waiting sea below. The ocean glowed where the petals hit, leaving little stepping stones of light over the waves before they were taken by the current. To his ears, the water all but cooed at the gift; he knew that the flowers would not sink until they were well out of sight and the sea claimed what was offered to her.  
  
“Now Naupaka is reunited with Kaui,” Moana shrugged to say, flashing a small half-smile up at him. “It's the best I can do to return them to their place.”  
  
The quiet sort of symbolism left him unable to answer for a moment, before he rolled his eyes and said, “Huh, I never took you for such a romantic, curly.”  
  
“Oh,” she held up her head in haughty confidence, “don't think that I still can't kick your holy butt. I am just . . . respectful. Naupaka . . . Kaui . . . they deserve that much, don't you think? After all,” her eyes twinkled as they reflected the moonlight, “ _you_ were the one who brought them to me in the first place. Who's the big ol' softy now?”  
  
“I _accidentally_ brought you overly symbolic _weeds_ ,” Maui sniffed to say. “It's not my fault that your people have a cockamamie story for _everything_.”  
  
The petals were now indistinguishable in the night but for the glowing mark of the ocean, growing dimmer and dimmer as the distance between them grew. On his chest, Maui looked down to see his Mini Me sighing in a lovelorn manner, and he immediately slapped a hand over the sentient ink to get him to _knock it off_ before Moana saw. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.  
  
“I don't know . . . you're usually not complaining when those stories feature _you_ ,” Moana sniffed to say, drawing his attention back to her. Right: their verbal sparring.   
  
“That's because I'm an _awesome_ subject!" Maui was affronted by the comparison. "My stories are nowhere near as ridiculous as a scorned, murderous _woman_ -”  
  
“ - Maui.”  
  
“ - and some idiotic man who tried to out-swim _lava_ -”  
  
“ - Maui.”  
  
“ - and their everlasting _love-flowers_. No, my stories are _cool,_ my stories are the _epitome of epic_ , they are -”  
  
“ - _Maui!”_ Moana finally gave up on trying to quietly get his attention and hissed his name outright. “Look!” she then had the audacity to reach up and grab his chin, forcefully turning his face to stare at the fore of the _waka._ There, for all to see was . . .  
  
Well, he knew they were coming up on an island, and now, bathed in moonlight and all but glowing welcomingly in the starlight  . . . there it was.  
  
“An island,” Moana breathed, letting him go so that she could stand up and squint her eyes to better see. “Maui, I think . . .”  
  
All around the boat, the ocean was leaping and dancing in a giddy play of light. Moana tore her eyes away from the landmass in the distance to look down at the cresting, glowing water, and knew, “I think . . . I think this one is it. Think of it: no murdering fauna . . .”  
  
“ - none that I can sense, at least,” Maui winced as he agreed. That had been an unpleasant adventure very early on in their voyage; he had been pulling stickers out of places he _did not want_ to pull stickers out of for days following.  
  
“ . . . no cannibals setting up a cult to Heihei . . .”  
  
“Seriously, I still cannot wrap my mind around that one. I mean, they wanted to eat _me_ , but the _chicken_ was deified? Clearly they were disturbed.”  
  
“ . . . no giant human hunters who wanted to _play_ , seriously, what were those things again?”  
  
“ _Nawao,_ ” Maui shuddered at _that_ particularly close call. “The unholy spawn of _Lua-nu'u._ ” That was the island they had found only a few days ago, and he still didn't like thinking about it. How small and breakable mankind was -  
  
Nope. He pressed that thought down with the others. There it was left to stay under lock and key.  
  
“No,” Moana whispered, looking down at the enthusiasm of the ocean again. The bright sea-light lit up a bountiful reef underneath their hulls, where sea turtles swam and coral mountains flashed. Fish scales and bioluminescent particles glowed in the elemental aura, draping the nighttime world in a veil of light. "This is it, I think; this feels _right_.”  
  
She held a hand up to clasp her grandmother's necklace – now empty of the Heart, but still precious in its sentimentality. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to a voice only she could hear. The sea turned still around them, and then . . .  
  
The sound of a conch horn blowing greeted their ears from the ship closest to them. Its trumpeting was soon taken up by all of the ships in their fleet – triumphantly rejoicing to announce _we are here, we are here, we are here._  
  
Her people were stirring, Maui saw, and he gave up his post as navigator to the tribesman who came to thoughtfully take his place as Moana walked to the bow of the _waka_. Her parents were one of the first to awaken at the sound of the horn, and a whirl of excited chatter soon filled his ears. Tui had one arm around his wife's shoulders as he bent low to discuss their new discovery with his daughter, his eyes bright with a matching light. Over the months he had spent with the tribe, Maui had long began to respect the chief, and he liked to think that respect was returned. More than anything, he respected the care and consideration Tui treated his daughter with, such as, now . . .  
  
“I think that we are home,” Moana whispered to her parents. “This feels different . . . this feels _right_.”  
  
At her words, little more confirmation was needed – Tui gave a nod to one of his men, and he in turn whistled up to another tribesman. The boy manning the horn smiled before letting a new sound bellow from the conch.  
  
_One and two_ , Maui heard, and there were cheers from Moana's people to take up the call of the conch. _We are here . . ._ one and two . . . _we are here, we are here._  
  
At long last, they had finally found their island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A Note or Two** :
> 
>  **Waka** : A Maori sea-faring canoe.  
>  **Okolehao** : Hawaiian alcoholic beverage made from ti root.  
>  **Tabu** : Polynesian cultural taboos.
> 
>  **Leis** : It is considered a no-no to take off your lei in front of the gifter, and it is respectful not to throw a lei away, but rather return it to where it was gathered. 
> 
> **Nawao** : Giants in Hawaiian legend.
> 
>  **Naupaka and Kaui** : A Hawaiian folk tale with many different forms, but the part about the matching halves of the flowers seems to be universal. 
> 
> As always, this story is written with great respect to the culture it is inspired by. I simply enjoy reading about myths and history in my spare time, so I am by no means an expert on the subject. Please, if something is glaringly misused on my part, don't hesitate to inform me. :)
> 
> . . . and, a oneshot more further telling the tale of Heihei the Deity just may be written sometime soon. So . . . yeah. There's that. ;)


	2. Shoal

They named the island _Marama_ , for the full moon they found it under.  
  
Veiled in a wellspring of brilliant silver light, the island had sparkled as something precious to Moana's eyes. From the tall, majestic crest of its volcanic mountains, to the tell-tale glitter of waterfalls on its verdant slopes, to the slow sway of the palm trees as they pulled their boats up on shore, it was all one mingled impression to her senses: beauty . . . peace . . . promise . . . _paradise_ -  
  
\- _h_ _ome._  
  
Moana could sense the rightness of the island from the very first time she jumped down from the  _waka_ and sank her feet into the soft, glistening wet sand. The ocean gurgled and cooed as the surf rushed up to kiss her skin before retreating playfully again; she could feel as the tugging rhythm between the moon and the tides play a matching melody on the strings of her heart. The salty-sweet sea air was exhilarating as it whipped her hair loose from its tie to billow freely in the air, all but rejoicing in their find as the wind helped them push their vessels ashore. Between the giddy currents and the helpful gales, the natural world itself seemed to play in harmony with their endeavors . . . it was almost as if the island was aware of their arrival, and welcoming them to its waiting embrace.  
  
For a long moment, Moana stood in the shallow sea-surf, happily wriggling her toes in the sand. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and reached up to clasp a hand over her grandmother's necklace. There, between one heartbeat and the next she knew that she could _feel_ Tala's spirit embracing her for the warmth she felt engulfing her soul. For her, no further confirmation was needed that that. _We are home_ , she first dared to hazard the thought . . . _we are home_ , she knew with a certainty as she took that first step onto the island . . . one, and then two . . .  
  
By the time the last tribesman pulled ashore, the sun was just starting to light the eastern sky with its rising. Even with the arrival of the morning, the moon continued to hover opposite the might of the newly resurrected sun, growing swollen and flush with a rosy pink-orange color to reflect the dawn. As she sank towards the horizon, the sun gracefully rose to take her place crowning the earth with gold in the daytime sky.  
  
_Goodnight, Hina_ , Moana bowed her head to the slowly disappearing moon. _I thank-you_ _for lighting ou_ _r_ _way_ _._  
  
She looked around and noticed that she was not the only one held in awe by the glory of the heavens that night – well, morning now. Many bowed their heads to the rare spectacle they were treated to by the ocean mother, and some even took to their knees in the sand to pray outright. Maui, she noticed from the corner of her eyes, did not pray - after all, why would he? - but he did incline his head and close his eyes for a long, somber moment. He then more familiarly saluted the moon as if she was an old friend, with a soft, even wistful look crossing his face before Moana blinked, and it was gone. She stared at him for a pause, puzzled as to his thoughts.  
  
It was, however, a wondering that was short lived - for with the light came an opportunity to explore, and in the glow of day their new home was even more perfectly situated than she first could have hoped for.  
  
The shore they landed on was a natural harbor carved into the coast of the island. With its buffeted crescent shape the cove would stay relatively sheltered through even the worst of the tropical storms of the season, just as the fish in the peaceful inlet would remain plentiful in the many lagoons they found once the tide lines ebbed. The rising cliffs that formed the arms of the cove were crowned by thick tropical foliage; on the western arm there was even a thundering waterfall that poured into the sea from the volcanic slopes that fed it. The sound of the draining river was a soothing backdrop to the cadence of the waves, ever rising and falling in an endless dance between the currents, wind, and tide. Even well into the thick jungle underbrush, the song of the ocean was never far to find; the entirety of the island was set in tune to it.  
  
As her people went about setting up temporary shelters, scouts were sent out to explore the island in greater detail. A freshwater river, several more waterfalls, and nearby hot springs were soon found and reported back - all before the noontide hour. Maui, taking to his eagle-hawk form to take a better look around for them, mapped natural clearings in the jungle that could be cultivated into fields for their crops without their having to harm the natural environment more than was strictly necessary – it was a lush oasis they had found, one that promised a rich reaping of blessings for their tribe now and for many more generations to follow.  
  
Throughout the course of the day, Moana found herself lost in a frenetic spin of motion and decision making – busily thinking and squinting and planning until her eyes crossed and her throat felt raw from excitement and overuse. But she could not stop when they were finally there - when they were finally _home._  
  
That was, she did not stop until she was finally forced to take a break and rest, late in the afternoon. Her parents and Maui quite ganged up on her, she was moodily surprised – and yet not quite so surprised – to find, arguing that she had slept but little the night before with the full moon, and then . . .  
  
“Trust me, the real work is still ahead of you,” Maui waved a hand to her protests with deaf ears. “You'll have plenty of time to be your chiefly self, kid.”  
  
“Today should be about rest and thanking the gods,” Tui added, placing a warm, proud hand on her shoulders. “Tomorrow we will start our planning in earnest.”  
  
Sina only kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “You did it, my daughter,” with delighted affection strong in the softness of her voice. Those few words were more than enough to sooth Moana's still restless soul and bring warmth to her heart – enough so that she decided to at least _attempt_ to rest . . . just to make her family feel better, of course. Which meant that she surprised herself by falling into a deep and exhausted sleep almost immediately before the smell of roasting pork and smoking fish awakened her, just as the sun was setting. _Kumu_ , she recognized one of the enticing aromas - with her mouth watering and her stomach rumbling to remind her that she had skipped the morning and noon meal that day in her excitement. She was then wide awake - wide awake and more than refreshed enough to enjoy the impromptu celebration that had been ordained as fitting for that night.  
  
The torchlight waved and long shadows jumped from their merriment as they feasted on the first catch of the fishermen and drank _okolehao_ from the calabash gourds the spirits had been stored in while they were still at sea. The moon was back, regally reigning in the night sky and only less than full in her waxing; no matter the slight shadow to her orb, her light was still bright and beaming as she tugged on the tides and danced with the ocean in a mirror of their own revelry that night.  
  
Now itching to dance herself, Moana did not stop herself from celebrating – first taking a turn with her father before indulging a few of the young men from her tribe with a spin. Maui rarely needed encouragement to participate in the merrymaking, she all the while tracked her friend from the corner of her gaze. He was a surprisingly adapt _k_ _ō_ _auau_ player, she had come to find during their travels – really, it was all of that hot air he had to share, she shouldn't have been surprised - and he loved dancing. To that end, he had a whole legion of adoring women ever eagerly vying for his attention – most were typically young girls, but there were more than a few matrons and a very surprising grey haired elder or two that Moana collectively referred to as his _groupies_. With such a diversely _feminine_ crop to chose from for company, it warmed her heart to find that Maui had instead surrounded himself with a gaggle of children. There, in the center of the group, he was teaching them the ancient steps of their ancestors' dances, and she heard:  
  
“Alright, shrimplings, stick with me and I'll lead you down the path of _awesome_ _ness_. Now, let's see what I have to work with.”  
  
She was far from the only one amongst the tribe who found the sight worth observing; many paused to watch the impromptu lesson with fond eyes and unwittingly growing smiles. Her mother even stopped to stand by her side and watch, curious as Maui went about ushering the young ones through the next set of moves.  
  
"Mo!" she was, of course, noticed. She was not blind to the few halfhearted - and not so halfhearted - glares she received from the _groupie_ portion of the ring of onlookers. Maui waved a massive hand and spun around to beckon her. "Come and join us!"   
  
Moana crossed her arms, and stood her ground with a wry smile. "Nah," she answered, "I think you're doing just fine without me."  
  
"Nonsense, things are always more fun with you," Maui huffed - and the flyaway comment nevertheless zapped a pesky spot on the left side of her chest. He then turn to the kids to stage-whisper behind his hand and glance between them with shifting eyes, "Don't listen to her: she has natural moves, trust me . . . but watch out when she's holding that oar. _Yikes_."  
  
"I really wish I could," even so, she demurred. She felt a warm sort of - _ridiculous_ \- twisting in her heart as he beamed at her, but she truly did have duties awaiting her. Chiefly hosting duties and the like. So, she let herself wink and chide, "Just don't teach them anything that has them summoning spirits or opening up doors to the underworld, okay?"  
  
"Alright, party pooper," Maui waved a hand - even as the children turned wide, hopeful eyes on him. "I'll save that for next time. You'll have to join us, then."  
  
"Next time," she promised, and turned away.  
  
“Now, _this_ is true immortality,” she heard Maui as she left the circle. His voice was proud and approving as the children began to shimmy and sway as instructed. “You must all continue to remember these steps and dance them in my honor throughout your days: that is a commandment . . . you know, a demigodly proclamation and all.”  
  
Sina glanced at her as she rejoined her mother's side, her look unreadable in its meaning. Moana fondly rolled her eyes in answer to the unspoken, and shrugged helplessly. “Leave it to Maui to recruit a batch of _minions_ , right?” she tried to make light of the annoyingly instinctive biological reaction she had to goofily smile at the easy way he interacted with the children. “Really,” she turned from the sight of Maui dancing with the more uncertain youngsters before her smile could grow, “he's going to make menaces of them all.”  
  
“Hmm,” Sina made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat that was neither agreement or disagreement before turning to carry on with their duties for the night. Moana frowned at her mother's back, pondering her response in bemusement before shrugging and following a step behind. A heartbeat later, the incident was forgotten.  
  
The next day, as her father had predicted, the true work of settling their island began in earnest.  
  
The _Mararika_ had appeared in the night sky shortly before her birthday. The arrival of the glittering heavenly body heralded their new year and was a sign to begin seeding their fields for the season to come. So, even as the groundwork for their village was planned, their fields were plotted and seeded even before the foundation for the first _f_ _a_ _le_ was set. Maui proved to be more than helpful with that endeavor – in mere minutes, he eagerly moved around cocoanut trees and rerouted irrigation canals with more ease alone than it would have taken a dozen farmers to complete in days.

Which, of course, meant that he felt that he was deserving of reimbursement for his efforts . . . ridiculously so.  
  
“Right _here_ ,” Maui leaned over the tablet etched with the town plans to nonchalantly suggest. “That's where the statue of _me_ is going to go, right?”  
  
Oh . . . sure.  
  
“I'll see what I can do,” Moana fondly rolled her eyes, and reached up to condescendingly pat his shoulder.  
  
“I mean, the big four are getting _their_ temple, so why not me?” Though his words were playful, Maui's eyes went uncharacteristically dark to say – his pursed mouth and furrowed brow only lasted for a moment, however, before brightening. “After all, I can assure you that I am ten times cooler than any one of _those_ losers. And you guys know me . . . like, _personally_. I'm practically a local celebrity . . . so, let's celebrate me!”  
  
When plans for his statue proved to be none forthcoming, Maui, she noticed with some exasperated amusement, sought about building one by himself.  
  
“I am, after all, an amateur artist,” he boasted while his Mini Maui happily mimed sculpting a sitting man in a pose of thoughtful contemplation. He blew a kiss at the finished sculpture, pleased. “Actually, I believe that you've seen some of my work before,” he added smugly, insufferably wagging his eyebrows to punctuate his words. Moana fought the instinctive urge she had to punch his closest bulging bicep in answer.  
  
Because . . . she _had_ seen his work before . . . in the cave. She made a dark face at the memory – after all, he had tried to maroon and thus inadvertently _kill_ her with that little stunt. As friends, they were now past that, however . . . for the most part.  
  
“Oh, you mean the statue I destroyed while trying to escape the cave _you_ left me to die in?” Moana was unimpressed – and, perhaps somewhat pettily, not ready to let that little incident go. “I don't know, it looked a little . . . bloated to me.”  
  
_“Bloated?”_ Maui sputtered to parrot her critique. “No, no, no, it was _beautiful_ – so beautiful that _obviously_ your sad little mortal eyes were overwhelmed by its sheer awesomeness and unable to properly behold its glory. After all, if I had been allowed to live a boring mortal life, I _know_ that I would of have been one of the _best_ artists to ever . . .”  
  
But when he realized what he had said, his words, though they had started quick and leaping, quickly softened and tapered off. An unpleasant look marred his face, as if he had eaten a sour melon, and, just like that, the lighthearted moment was ruined. He turned back to chiseling his stone in terse silence, and Moana simply watched him – unsure what to say or do as his Mini Maui shrugged helplessly at her before patting his host in a soothing manner. Maui continued to ignore them both, even as Moana sat down to watch him work. Just because she was at a loss for words to fill the void he obviously struggled with did not mean that she would leave him to work through his dark thoughts alone. She would be there when he was ready to talk.  
  
And so, the days continued to pass.  
  
When their building began in earnest, Maui had practical input when it came to the construction of their new home. Many of his methods were at first foreign to her people, but they were quickly implemented when their practicality and resourcefulness was recognized. He had done so much in his years, and had seen even more, she was slowly beginning to understand - he had been there when their wayfinding ancestors started their first island homes after voyaging from Havaiki. He had watched their forefathers struggle and triumph over their own villages, and he now helped them apply that ancient wisdom as if their ancestors were there walking beside them in flesh as well as spirit.  
  
In a physical manner, he was of unparalleled aid to the builders – able as he was to lift heavy beams and set foundations as easily as a thought. “Let's see a storm get the best of _that_ ,” he had been proud to boast when the cornerstones of the meeting house had been laid, right before slapping the first floorboard into place. “That's _satisfaction guaranteed_ , wouldn't you say, princess?”  
  
Picking up a chisel for more than sculpting his ridiculously oversized statue of himself, Moana was surprised by the joy Maui took in aiding their craftsman in practical ways. He would sit down for hours after the hard work of general construction to carve posts and cross-hatchings and beams with intricate designs of waves and animals and sacred inscriptions from wood and stone. There too he always had a curious gaggle of children surrounding him as he told the story of whatever spirit or creature whose likeness he was depicting. He was never one to waste a listening audience, and his loud voice was often heard bounding throughout the ever growing village, saying things like:  
  
“I know, _yikes_ , but throw let's throw Punga a bone and carve some of his children next, what do you say? You'll tickle the old fussy britches, trust me.” Or: “You don't want Kamohoalii to hear you being a greedy little shrimpling; if he does, you'll wake up with his mark on your back and be forced to live the rest of your life as a were-shark in his service. Trust me – half man, half shark is _not_ the way to go,” he would counsel when the youngsters pushily tried to be first amongst their peers with watching or mimicking whatever Maui was crafting.  
  
Framing the entrance of her parent's _fale_ , Maui carved a dancing design of manta rays, upon whose backs Tangaroa, the father of the sea, surfed. He shrugged when asked to say that one of the first voyagers he knew had the same design above the door of his hut. He could still picture it clearly in his mind, and wanted to recreate that memory for them now.  
  
The sea was in their blood, Moana knew . . . she even wondered how much of that particular ancestor had lived anew through her grandmother's soul, and felt her heart warm at the thought.  
  
“Your grandmother would have approved,” was all that Tui had whispered when he saw the finished work, and Moana had embraced her father to acknowledge his grief and alleviate what pains she could through its sharing. Yes, Tala would have loved the carving, just as she would have loved their voyages . . . their island . . . and the new friend they had found in Maui. All too often, Moana wished that she could have tangibly shared _more_ with her grandmother before her time was up, no matter that she continued to feel her presence in a spiritual sense now.  
  
And so, as the weeks passed her people built; they observed; they learned; they _thrived_.  
  
. . . they thrived, just as Moana blossomed with the role of leadership she found herself thrust into all the more so with each passing day. More and more as of late, her father stepped back and allowed her to take on the duties of chief while he folded himself neatly into the role of adviser and sage instructor. She found herself flourishing underneath the mantle of her responsibilities, and the satisfaction she found in seeing to the welfare of her people nourished for her soul – almost as much as the ocean and its continuous call gave her life and breath with every single day.  
  
She . . . she would not be able to take to the open water for some time, she nevertheless understood with a pang – there was too much to do _here_ , on solid ground. Her people could not live out on the ocean indefinitely, and while there were those in the next generation who would undoubtedly make their way from them again to continue exploring, she . . .  
  
Moana was all but the official Chief of the Motunui now, and that meant that her duty was there with them on solid ground . . . She was long of age to take on the yoke of her responsibilities, and now it was time – more than time.  
  
Yet . . . this she could not help but wonder as she watched Maui smile and laugh and _live_ with her people . . . for how much longer would his attention be diverted by such trifling mortal pursuits as was their day to day lives? How long did she have with him until his attention was diverted, and thus taken from her forever? She knew that she was a fish admiring the untouchable beauty of a bird, and yet . . .  
  
. . . each time he took to the sea or sky, she wondered if that was the last time she would see him. She wondered how long she had before he simply stopped coming back entirely. The ocean was vast – and the world beyond their corner of the sea was even larger, she had since learned from him. To have all that available at his fingertips and instead confine himself to one little island in the middle of it all . . . She would not have him forever by her side, Moana knew; she already prepared herself to mourn his loss.  
  
The one time she had halfway been able to voice her fears aloud, Maui had just looked at her strangely - a look she recognized of the like he would give to Heihei whenever the rooster was being unusually stupid - and said, “I will stay until I want to leave . . . and I do not want to leave.”  
  
Yet, when he _wanted_ to leave . . .  
  
“I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye,” Maui assured her. “I promise you, kid.”  
  
Her continued wrestling with her uncertainty and doubt seemed to call for him looping a massive arm about her shoulders in a casual half-embrace. The affection worked in the small way he intended for it to: she closed her eyes and reveled in the solid heat and presence of him, treasuring his nearness. Yeah . . . that contentment she knew then . . . _right then?_ It was enough, she told herself, even while she dealt with the nagging knowledge that soon, the cornerstone of her contentment would be gone and she would have to learn how to stand on her own two feet without him once more. In the meantime, she would take as much of him as she was blessed to have, and that little would sustain her through the rest of her days. That would be enough . . . it had to.  
  
But, Moana grimly reminded herself, it was futile to lament that which she could not change. And so, as was mortal and necessary, she pushed that thought from her mind and resolved not to dwell on it until such a time came when she was forced to do so.  
  
  
  
.

.  
  
Of course, such an idyll was not one that could last indefinitely. That was when things started to turn . . . well, _odd_.  
  
It started innocuously enough: Enele, one of their builders, woke up in the morning to find his hammer missing from amongst his tools. The next day, a pan full of sea-salt disappeared from widow Kahele's hut. The following evening, Puna the singer's favorite poi pestle went missing while her back was turned, and she could not find it no matter where she looked. They were small incidents; strange, but not necessarily noteworthy.  
  
. . . at first.  
  
Then . . . a favorite coral blade, and his entire collection of red lava lures disappeared from Tasi's fishing canoe. Nakoa, one of the youngest of her father's fighting men, reported his newly wrought shark toothed club as missing – a travesty for the young man, as he had been collecting teeth for some time to form the weapon, only to lose it after he had reaped the fruit of his labor. A whole newly finished sheet of _tapa_ was stolen from Sina's circle of working women – a devastating loss for the patience and dedication that went into weaving the plant fibers, so much so that even her mild-tempered mother was frowning and darkly considering the possible culprits for the theft.  
  
Yet, no matter the precautions they took, the reports continued to pour in as the days passed: bowls, jewelry, weapons, tools, _their entire first harvest of bananas . . ._  they were all lost in the night with no apparent rhyme or reason as to their disappearance. Even more baffling, there was no sight or sign of the thieves . . . there was only the gaps they left behind in their wake . . . that which was missing, _gone_.  
  
It was, Moana puzzled with her father and the tribe's council of  _tohunga_ , a perplexing matter . . . a problem for which they could not quickly discern an easy answer. Their entire new village had been searched; not one member of the tribe had been exempt from having their dwelling turned upside down. Every man and woman had been questioned, but each was just as confused as the last as to the thefts; there was not a household who did not have some minor inconvenience or loss to report, at that, further compounding the mystery.

For, if these thefts were coming, not from within, but from without . . .  
  
_Perhaps the island is angry_ , Moana heard whispered more than once. _Perhaps we have disturbed an ancient spirit . . . perhaps this is_ _some kind_ _of_ _warning._  
  
Moana personally did not give the whispers much credence – she had felt what she had felt when they first came upon their island, and that feeling had been _right_. She trusted that this was the home they were meant to find as faithfully as she was certain of her own name; she would not turn her back on that belief for any amount of muttering from her people.  
  
_Warnings can start small and grow_ _more dire if not heeded_ , one of the more nervous men amongst the _kiato_ , the lowest of the priest class muttered. Though he was silenced with a firm glance from one of his elder _tohunga,_ his words were nonetheless heard . . . and they were repeated.  
  
When, the following day, she was called out with her father to a taro field that had been wrecked in the night – with all of the sprouted seeds devoured and the young saplings uprooted by no apparently human hand . . . well, that one _kiato's_ whisper then became a dull roar in Moana's ears. There were words falling from seemingly each and every tongue she passed; no matter where she turned, the new insistence of fear and belief in a reason _for_ that fear was maddening.  
  
_Perhaps,_ insidiously, the whispers started to suggest, _we never should have landed here at all._  
  
The vaguest insinuation of such a thought was enough to set her heart to racing, even as she squared her jaw and made a resolute frown of her mouth: she refused to let these . . . these _trifling losses_ make her believe that their landing was a mistake. They had been meant to find this island – she was as certain of that as she was of the sun's continued rising. She refused to be proven wrong.  
  
So, she resolved to take her concerns to Maui, and found him where he was still carving his massive statue on the village outskirts. She was certain that he would have an answer – or, at least a theory for their new woes. After all, they had only known their one island for a millennia. Already, in one year's time, Moana had seen and explored more of the ocean than she had ever imagined existed, and she knew that she was only scratching the surface of what was truly out there. He, however, had seen more of the world in his hundreds of years than she could ever possibly hope to see in her lifetime. He would know; he _had_ to know.  
  
Yet, squashing her belief in his usefulness, Maui only scoffed at the _kiato's_ warning - unsurprising, Moana had first thought, for he had a deep seeded distrust where the direction of their holy class was concerned - and waved his hand to say, “It's so typically arrogant of mankind if you think that you are the first ones to discover an island. There are hundreds of things that could be living here - things that shouldn't, and don't want to be found, at that.”  
  
“Things like _what_?” Moana tried to press, but Maui, maddeningly, only shrugged – seemingly unworried by what her people were starting to take very seriously indeed.  
  
“Things like: don't worry about it because that worry's not going to accomplish anything,” Maui continued to be unaffected. He then added, perhaps somewhat broodingly, “Just be glad that the worst they have stolen is taro roots. Believe me, it could be babies they chose to rob from their cradles. Sometimes . . . assuaging the spirit of whatever is stealing your things is not worth the price you will be asked to pay.” An old, hard look crept over his face then . . . he rubbed absently at the new fishing hook tattoo he had over his left hand, as she found that he often did whenever he dealt with a distasteful thought. “Just let them have whatever they need to have to be appeased and be done with it.”  
  
His flippancy had Moana twitching. So, she turned on her heel to stalked off to figure out what was plaguing her people _herself_. If she stayed with the demigod much longer, she just may have kicked him . . . or punched him. He really did bring out her more violent tendencies at times – distressingly so.  
  
Of course, Maui's indifference lasted only a day before his roar was heard echoing throughout the entire village:  
  
_“_ _They_ _stole my head!”_  
  
And, just like that, Moana was distracted from puzzling over where their latest crop of bananas had gone off to – _again_ \- and darted out to the cool palm shade on the shore, where, sure enough -  
  
“They stole my head!” Maui thundered anew at her arrival, jabbing a thick finger to his now – sure enough - _headless_ statue. His already dark skin was turning a an unflattering shade of purplish red in his anger; he looked, she thought somewhat sourly, like a blowfish who had sucked in too much air. “My. Head. Is. _Gone!!_ ”  
  
Oh, so _now_ he was concerned? she was incredulous to find. He only cared about their troubles when the thieves took something important to _him?_ Moana had little pity for her friend as he stomped in the sand like a boar ready to charge. Steam all but billowed from his nose, and his lungs were working like twin _imu_ furnaces in his chest. He was angry, she thought with no small amount of satisfaction. _G_ _ood_.  
  
“Why, Isn't it arrogant of demigods to assume that they are the only thing living on an island?” Moana's dangerously sweet voice was touched with a mocking note of dryness as she glanced from the decapitated statue to its fuming creator. “Maybe you should just let them take what they want and forget about it. It's not worth the trouble, after all.”

Maui only glared at her to exclaim, “But this isn't just any petty old theft! This is – this is _vandalism_ , that's what it is! It's the _desecration of a holy place,_ it's - ”  
  
“ - while the crop of the taro root farmer was an acceptable loss?” Moana interrupted to retort. She could feel her eyes flashing fire, and fought the unflattering urge she had to growl; her anger was growing in her chest like a tidal wave, all but ready to crash down on an unsuspecting seashore with destruction in mind.  
  
“There are hundreds of creatures who feed on taro root – that's just the circle of life, curly,” Maui _again_ dismissed her _petty mortal concerns_ to say. “But my _head_ is - ”  
  
_“ - is just one part of a tacky statue,”_ Moana was appalled by his priorities. Finally, her leashed control of her temper snapped, with her frustration for her tribe's losses and her inability to do anything about it reaching its boiling point and bubbling over. “Who knows? Maybe the thieves have a taste for _kitschy tiki knock-offs_ too.”  
  
For a moment, she was surprised when Maui looked as if she had slapped him. His eyes widened in a wounded sort of bewilderment that had her heart momentarily twisting in regret before she stamped that feeling down – far down. _She_ was the one who had been let down by a friend here, after all – not him.  
  
“If someone desecrated one of your offerings to _T_ _ā_ _ne_ or _T_ _ū_ or -” Maui started in a low, seething voice.  
  
“ - or if they took something that meant something to us – _us_ , Maui!” Moana jabbed her thumbs into her chest to say. “You didn't care when I came to you for help, so why should I care now?”  
  
Maui, she was unsettled to notice in the back of her mind, only stared at her. She watched a vein throb in his forehead, and his massive hands tightened into fists; the fingers that were constantly held over the handle of his hook twitched. He took a step forward, looking as if he would advance on her, but she held her ground. She refused to be intimidated by him; she would not cower back.  
  
Instead, she jutted out her chin and held her nose up haughtily, and all but daring him to speak. She was ready for whatever salvo he chose next.  
  
But, surprisingly, Maui only let loose a massive breath, and after one last hard look at her, he waved his hook and took to the sky with a familiar zapping noise and a yell. She jumped back, startled by the unexpectedly bright flash of _mana_ , even as her mouth fell open in shock. He was depriving her of the rest of their conversation! _They were not finished yet._  
  
“Fine!” incensed, she yelled up as his hawk-form flew up and over the trees, beyond where her eyes could follow. “Fly away, then – I will figure this out by myself! I don't need you anyway, Maui, do you hear me?!”  
  
Her chest was heaving with her anger, and the back of her eyes stung with the disturbing forewarning of tears. Frustrated by their presence, Moana growled and scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes before they had any time to fall. Distantly, she heard the sound of murmuring, and realized that their shouting had attracted an audience . . . they had been watched by an ever growing crowd all the while.  
  
She whipped around to see confusion lining the faces of her people – they looked unsure and hesitant, she hated to see . . . as if they did not know what to think or what to say about their - about  _her_ - outburst. The looks filled Moana with a new wave of hopelessness, and she swallowed against an overwhelming feeling of failure, as thick and oppressive as a hot ember lodged in her throat. It was her mother's eyes she sought, however, and she was momentarily stunned to find disappointment shading Sina's expression as she left the crowd behind to approach her daughter. Though she was a gentle woman, the tribe knew better than to trifle with the chief's wife, and when Sina gestured, their audience dispersed with nary a mutter. They turned away, and went back to their own tasks for the day.  
  
Soon, they were left alone where the jungle met the sand of the seashore, and Sina motioned for her to sit down on the _fala_  mat Maui had left before the statue he was carving. . . . the now headless and ruined statue, Moana looked up again to see with a pang. He had been working on it for so long, and her heart did hurt for her friend's loss - truly it did.  
  
_Who_ . . . her brain furiously scrambled to understand . . . or _what_ , could have taken such a thing unseen in the night? She was confused, and the lack of answers was grating at her. She could feel her frustration thrum in her veins as something living, her blood was hot beneath the thin veil of her skin; like lava beneath a thin veneer of obsidian. She blew a breath through her nose like steam from the pressure.  
  
“What?” Moana finally sighed when her mother's silence stretched on long enough to unnerve her. Her furious heartbeat had somewhat calmed – as perhaps Sina had intended, but her pulse still spiked anew to remember her argument with the demigod. “This is not me, mother, surely you see that.”  
  
“I didn't say that it was,” Sina gently assured her. Her voice was as smooth as a ripple on a tide-pool.  
  
Moana narrowed her eyes, trying to wheedle out her mother's thoughts from the careful mask of neutrality she wore. “This is _him,_ ” she nevertheless insisted. " _I_ asked _him_ for help, and he wouldn't give it to me. I am the one who should be hurt, not - ”  
  
“ - ah, he _was_ hurt, then?” Sina mused aloud, looking down the long line of the sandy shore to where the waves crashed in from the sea. It was a rough, dangerous day on the water, Moana saw; the pounding surf matched her foul mood perfectly. “Why do you think that is so?”  
  
“Jealousy?” Moana snorted without a thought. “Ridiculous male pride? It's his  _ego_ , plain and simple.”  
  
“Hmm,” Sina mused in the back of her throat, and fell silent again. Moana turned her eyes from the restless ocean to stare at her mother, suddenly unsure. “It seems to me that men are the same, be they mortal or demigod. A man likes to feel needed, you'll come to find . . . and though you have needed Maui in the past - ”  
  
“ - well, of course I need his help! That's what I was _trying_ to get, but he refused,” Moana scoffed in frustration.  
  
“Did he refuse his help?” Sina asked curiously.  
  
“Well . . . no,” Moana finally admitted after a moment's honest contemplation. “I just didn't like his answer; he refused to help me actually find the thieves . . . he warned me that I might not like what it is I found. But, as one of my people's leaders I have a duty to find out what is harming them, I have a _duty_ to prove that this was not all for nothing, that we were right in leaving our island and now . . .”  
  
But her words tapered off, and she sighed. She buried her head in her hands, and squeezed her eyes closed, feeling her frustration leech from a fervent zeal to _act_ into a bone weary exhaustion. She did not know what to do next anymore, and that lack of knowing pained her; she was no longer sure what to feel.  
  
She felt as her mother's hand gently rubbed her back, and before she knew it she was wrapped in a soothing embrace. Moana let herself relax into the familiar comfort, and she exhaled. Her eyes, disturbingly, felt warm and burning again, but no – _no_. A chief did not cry, she sternly told herself, a chief did not -  
  
“I do not think that I have told you lately how very proud I am of you,” Sina whispered into her hair, her words soft and full of love and warmth. “I . . . your father . . . your grandmother too would have been delighted by the woman you are growing into. The people respect and admire you just as we do; you will figure this out, dear . . . and yet, there are things above the eyes and knowing of mankind – give yourself the time to understand, and then act in wisdom with that understanding.”  
  
“You . . . you think that I was too harsh?” Moana finally sighed. Perhaps she had been. _I do not need you_ , she had yelled after him. She had held the likes of Tāne and Tū and Tangaroa and Rongo as holy, but Maui . . . he was her friend, her best friend, probably . . . yet, sometimes she forgot just how much _more_ he was . . . how very far above them all he was, so much so that . . .  
  
She sighed, and sat up from her mother's embrace in time to feel shame flush her face with heat. She had not treated him as she ought to treat a friend; she had not acted as befitted a chief of her people.  
  
“Perhaps,” Sina's eyes twinkled teasingly as she watched her understanding dawn, “your friend acted with . . . maturity in refusing to engage you before your temper had cooled?”  
  
Maui . . . _mature?_ He mature where _she_ had lacked? At first, the thought was laughable. “But -” Moana sputtered to protest, “He . . . _he_ -”  
  
“I did not say that he was in the right or the wrong,” Sina held up a hand to assure her, that same knowing smile still tugging at her mouth. “I only think that you will both benefit from speaking the next time with cooler heads . . . and kinder words.”  
  
“But,” Moana could not quite let the matter go, “the _thefts_ \- ”  
  
“ - will be figured out, and dealt with,” Sina interrupted in a hard voice, lined with determination. “I have no doubt that whatever you put your mind to you can understand, and triumph over. You need only give yourself the chance to do so.”  
  
And that was all that Moana needed to hear. She exhaled, and felt the wind leave her sails as she deflated . . . not quite unlike the same blowfish she had compared Maui to earlier. They were two clams in the same shell, weren't the? she thought drolly before sighing. She knew what she had to do next.  
  
“Thank-you, mama,” she whispered, somewhat shyly as she met her mother's eyes again. Just when she thought she was done with growing up, she realized that she still had so much to learn . . . again. “I'll make things right  between us. . . if,” and here her throat felt uncomfortably tight, “ . . . if he comes back, that is.” The whisper was a painful one to utter, all but catching at her throat and tearing at her tongue. She swallowed against the unexpected hurt, but found it a hard pain to sooth.  
  
And, yet . . .“Oh, something tells me that he will,” Sina did not quite share her worries. She ran a hand through her hair soothingly. "You need not worry."  
  
“But how . . . how do you know?”  
  
“Let's just call it a woman's wisdom,” Sina looked out to the ocean to say. “After all, someone has to take over for your grandmother as _village crazy lady_ , no?”  
  
Moana found an unexpected snort of laughter escape her mouth then; that thought too was a pain, but it was a slowly healing one. “Of course,” she agreed. “She wouldn't have expected anything less.”  
  
She then exhaled, and leaned against her mother's shoulder to watch the waves tumble and crash over each other, lost to her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A Note or Two** :
> 
>  **Waka** : Maori ocean-faring canoe.  
>  **Okolehao** : Hawaiian alcoholic beverage made from ti root.  
>  **Kōauau** : Maori flute.  
>  **Tapa** : A highly prized woven mat.  
>  **Fale** : Samoan dwelling.  
>  **Fala** : Samoan mat.
> 
>  **Tohunga** : In the Maori culture, they are expert practitioners - from religious leaders to artists to teachers to healers. They are equivalent to the Hawaiian _kahuna_.
> 
>  **Kiato** : The lowest class of priests in the _tohunga_.
> 
>  **Havaiki** : The original home of the Polynesian people, from which they dispersed across the ocean from. (Make note of that for later. ;))
> 
>  **Mararika** : Maori name for the Pleiades star cluster. It's rising in May/June symbolized the new year, and was the time to begin preparing the ground for planting.
> 
>  **Hina** : Polynesian goddess often associated with Maui, and the moon.
> 
>  **Punga** : In Maori mythology, he is the son of Tangaroa, and the father of all 'ugly' creatures, like sharks and manta rays and lizards.
> 
>  **Kamohoalii** : A Hawaiian shark god with lots of interesting stories attached to his name, including the one I related here.
> 
>  **Tāne, Tū, Tangaroa, Rongo** : Gods of the land, war, ocean, and crops; respectively. Although the names vary from island to island, they seem to be the big four in most Polynesian myth cycles.


End file.
